


Shadow Puppets

by ReticentGrace



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, Vampire: The Requiem
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Freeform, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Incest, M/M, Memories, Obtenebration, Older Brother/Younger Brother, Original Character(s), Roleplay, Romance, Sharing a Body, Short & Sweet, Sibling Incest, Unbeta'd, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReticentGrace/pseuds/ReticentGrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When we were young and the nights were long, and the darkness that crept over walls and beds could still cause innocent nightmares…you taught me to play with the shadows."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadow Puppets

**Author's Note:**

> ((Backstory: I have a boy in a VtM (vampire the masquerade)-based universe who was dragged unwillingly and somewhat accidentally into the Lasombra clan, but before that they stole something more precious than his life. They took his love and doomed them both to a shared life that they can only dream of escaping.))
> 
> ((PS- I've...never posted fanfiction OR any sort of my writing in a highly public forum before *freaks out*. I hope somebody enjoys it. My partner is always telling me that I need to be brave. So...here goes nothing.))

When we were young and the nights were long, and the darkness that crept over walls and beds could still cause innocent nightmares…you taught me to play with the shadows. You put on elaborate plays for an audience of one; waltzing figures and wandering rabbits…stalking wolves and prancing deer, woven into a thousand-thread tapestry of childhood faith and memory. At first I was far too young to learn, to help, but…I remember watching. I remember watching so very fondly, all eyes and rapt attention on the world that you had carved of nothing but fingertips and light. I remember that instead of storms, instead of arguments that we could hear through the thin walls; more than scraped knees and fever and fear and pain. I remember the shadows and the stories, and our laughter as we wrote worlds together.

We felt secure and safe when we were alone in our bedroom, with shadow puppets and nightlights, and our sides curled together; you were the sun that wrapped around me, and I was your little moon- striving to reflect even an ounce of your light and beauty...to hold it within myself for as long as you eclipsed me. When I was older you taught me to make my own stories, and even when you were busy with school, or work…or protecting me from a world and a family that was darker than any puppet we played with…you still had time to listen- you still made time to play.

I never grew as skilled as you were. I never felt that I had…and I never thought, never even considered, that one day I would play alone. That you would be my shadow, and our story paused permanently. We can only put on one show, now…and it is less a show and more a nightmare; the one comfort we both retained clouded over by pain. Neither of us were ever supposed to become the shadow; neither of us had been meant to play that part.

You are the shadows on the wall now, and My hands are instruments of begging and apology…of mourning. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, and our love is twisted now, from ropes that bound us to one another with joy to chains that hold us together in agony…an agony eternal. That I must live forever and you must live a life half in darkness……that I can no longer feel your hands over mine, or your lips on my lips…the curtain has fallen and the play is wrong. Our fairy tale has become a horror story, and neither of us know the ending.

I’m not sure it ends, when you become immortal. When your brother, your lover, becomes your shadow. When blood is your wine and flesh your bread, and darkness and cold stone your resting bed. What stops the thunderstorms, when our laughter and your stories are no longer louder than them…? What stops the nightmares…?

I just don’t know, anymore, and I wish you had a voice to tell me. I miss your arms around me, and the black is not the same. I’m not strong enough to open the book, to write another line…and I don’t know how to make a happy ending out of nothing…and I am so

so

sorry.

I’m so sorry that I don’t know.

The stalking wolves have turned on me,

And I am lost without your words. And I am lost

Without you.


End file.
